


Stegman's Concerto

by Dard_E_Disco



Category: Class of 1984 (1982)
Genre: But not quite, Gen, M/M, Teacher-Student Friendship, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17824976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dard_E_Disco/pseuds/Dard_E_Disco
Summary: An AU of the film 'Class of 84' which diverges from the canon plot after Mr Norris hears Stegman play his original piece on the piano. A happier version, but the characters are still pretty messed up.





	Stegman's Concerto

Andy knew the exact moment his irritation at Peter Stegman turned to intrigue. It was the day he’d announced the creation of his school band, when the slender blond had crashed the classroom he was barred from and played something beautiful on the old piano. 

It had been a revelation. This young punk - this outrageous drug pusher, gang leader and pimp - making unbelievable music with his long fingers like it came from somewhere deep inside him, like he had a soul beneath his skin. 

Andy’d stared at him, unable to breathe or process what he was seeing and hearing, until it ended. Then the kid had screamed at him - do I get the gig? - and shattered the spell. He’d thrown him out the class for the second time. 

But now, late at night, lying beside his pregnant wife, he couldn’t sleep for reliving it. 

An original composition. It had to have been, because he’d never heard it before and he knew music. How had it come from Stegman? How was it possible that hands so used to punching and choking and threatening had produced that sound? It was perplexing. And why had he even done it? Why had he yelled to be let into Andy’s band? Was it just to fuck with him? Because if so…then it had worked. 

He was completely bowled over by it. Knocked sideways and struck dumb. 

Now there was a part of him that hoped the boy would come back to his classroom and try again. If he could tap into that part of Stegman - the part that played piano like he was some well-mannered prep school kid with a brilliant future - he might, somehow, save him from himself. 

Because there was something to save. He was sure of that. 

The boy was a hooligan, a gang banger, a terrorist. But he was also an artist. 

Andy sighed and turned over to face the window. It was hard to look at Diane, asleep with her hand on her slightly rounded belly, while his thoughts drifted haywire over his student. 

The best thing to do would be to apply for a position somewhere else. There were plenty of nice schools, he’d worked at enough of them to know, and raising a family would be easier if he didn’t come home every night tired from a day of harassment and building resentment. It was what Diane hoped he would do. And he should, for her. 

“Honey,” her sleepy mumble caught his attention, “you need to sleep.” She snuggled up against his back and wrapped her arms around him. She was warm and soft and he was so lucky to have her. 

“What time is it?” He asked, feeling guilty for waking her. 

“Ugh, after four. Come on, close your eyes and count some sheep.”

She nodded off almost immediately. He followed around half an hour later, dreams of elegant fingers stained red with blood and white with powder pressing piano keys with elegant ferocity. 

***********

There was something going on in the bathroom. Patsy and Fallon were standing outside the door, guarding it like bouncers at a club. He watched them turn away five kids in a row, pushing and glowering, until he lost all patience. 

As soon as Fallon clocked him he ducked inside, most likely to alert the others. Patsy jumped on him, breasts against his chest and painted mouth lasciviously pursed. He shoved her away and busted down the door. 

“What’s going on in here?” 

They were all standing up at the urinals - Stegman, Barnyard, Drugstore, Fallon, and even two of his good kids - pretending like they were just pissing. 

Pissing away their futures was more like it. 

He barked at them to line up, keeping his eyes glued to Stegman as he walked past each in turn. Then he searched for what he knew he would find: drugs. Just one packet, tossed clumsily in a drain. He clutched it triumphantly. 

“Okay, you kids can go,” he said to Arthur and his friend. They were innocent. The bathroom was no place for them. Stegman and his cronies began to shuffle out as well. “Not you!” He snapped. 

He hustled them along to the principal’s office, which proved ineffectual. There was no proof that the baggie was theirs, no proof that they’d been dealing, just the goddamn obvious conclusion that it was and they had. But that wasn’t good enough. 

“I just want to join his band!” Stegman protested in a voice making mockery of earnest desire to learn. “But HE won’t let me! He’s had it in for us from day one!”

"That’s not true!” Andy yelled back, though it kind of was. 

Principal Morganthau dismissed them. Andy could’ve strangled him. There was a distinct lack of care from every single staff member, even Terry, who’d been nothing but nice to him. It frustrated him to his very core. No expulsion, no cops…not even a much deserved suspension. Ridiculous. 

“Detention, then.” He said frantically. “Give me a month…”  
“Impossible.”

“A week! Give me a week of detention. After school.” He put both palms on the desk, looming over Morganthau and pleading with everything he had. “It doesn’t even have to be all of them. Just Stegman. He’s the ringleader!”

The principal sighed. “Do you think he’ll show up?”

“He might.” It was a long shot. 

“You’ll be sorry if he does.” Morganthau nodded his approval. “It’s your funeral.”

“I understand that.” Andy folded his arms and wondered what was the best way to get Stegman to attend. 

*********

It turned out quite simple, actually.

Arthur’s friend climbed the flag pole and then plunged to his death, high on the drugs Stegman had sold him. 

Andy knew he was partly to blame. He’d been too obsessed with nailing the dealers to even notice that the boy was high. Maybe if he had, if he’d not hurried them out so he could focus on his target, he could have prevented the shocking scene. 

A young man, a child, sprawled on the grass, body broken and blood trickling from his mouth and nose. It was nothing that should ever be seen at a school. Nothing that should be witnessed by the eyes of babes. 

And Stegman, smirking at the back.

Andy marched over to him and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against the doors of a dented van. “You and me, Stegman. Every day after school for a week.”

Stegman laughed. “Sure, teach. Don’t hold your breath.”

Andy stared into his eyes. So much anger. “You’ll be there.”

"What makes you so sure?”

"Because you played that music. Because when you asked me if you got the gig, you really wanted me to say yes, didn’t you? No, don’t look at your friends like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You act like its a big joke but you brought it up again in the principal’s office. You really do want to play in my band.”

“Fuck you.” Stegman formed the words perfectly, emphasising them by spitting in the teacher’s face. 

Andy shoved him harder, not bothering to wipe it away. “If you last the week then you can audition again. Maybe then I’ll say yes. How about that?”

Stegman kept mulishly silent, his face a sullen mask. 

Patsy sidled up to them and placed her hand on Andy’s shoulder. “You’re getting awfully close there, teacher, teacher.”

“Some might say inappropriately.” Fallon added. 

Andy stepped back and let go. Stegman remained where he was, flattened and blazing with something quiet and furious. 

“You just killed someone.” Andy pointed to each of them in turn. “I hope it weighs on your conscience. I hope none of you sleep tonight.”

“He killed himself!” Drugstore said lazily. “He knew what he was buying.”

Disgusted, Andy began to walk away to where Terry was waiting by his car. The other man was already imbibing. In fact, he never stopped. 

“You’re wrong!” Stegman called after him. “You’re the one who wants me in your band! I don’t give two shits about it!”

Andy ignored him. He wasn’t wrong. He’d played his cards and now he would wait and see. Come Monday afternoon he’d either have the boy at his mercy for two hours a day or he wouldn’t. 

***********

Monday morning rolled around too quickly. The day passed with little to note other than the pleasing fact that his kids were steadily improving. What had once been a slightly melodious racket was now distinguishable as an almost perfect song. There were a few hiccups every so often, but he was so proud of them he could burst. 

Arthur and Deneen approached him with flushed and smiling faces. “We practised over the weekend!” Deneen effused. “My mom hollered at us to shut up at least twenty times!”

Andy laughed. “That’s great, I guess.”

“No, you’re great Mr Norris! You’re the best teacher we’ve ever had!” Arthur was earnest, his eyes round and intense. “You care about us.”

“You’re right. I do. I…”

“Knock, knock, teacher, teacher.” Stegman lounged in the doorway dressed in a ripped black tank and studded jeans. The artless graffiti around him spoke of crude acts and vulgar declarations. He ignored Arthur and Deneen, his gaze locked on Andy. 

Arthur shot him a look of pure hatred. It was brave, too brave, and he was lucky the older teen didn’t notice it. 

“School’s done,” Stegman stuck out his thumb, “get going, losers.”

“There’s no need to be rude.” Andy said flatly, even as his kids hurried to obey. 

Stegman remained obnoxiously in the doorway so that they had to shuffle under his arm before they could run. Then he sauntered across the room and bent over the desk where Andy sat. 

“What now?”

"I don’t know, Mr Stegman. What do you normally do in detention?”

Stegman shrugged. “I ain’t never attended one before.” He snapped his gum and then paced in a little circle, running his hand through his tousled blonde hair. His top rode up with the movement, exposing narrow, tanned hips that were surprisingly smooth and unscarred for the amount of fights he participated in. 

Andy watched him, waiting. 

Suddenly, violently, Stegman slammed his hands down on the desk and swept off the bundle of papers and jar of pens and pencils. They fluttered and clattered to the floor. Andy flinched. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHAT the FUCK do you WANT?”

Was he going for intimidation or was he legitimately confused? He sounded almost scared. There was definitely desperation. 

Slowly, Andy stood up until they were both leaning on the desk face to face. “I want you to sit down in that chair and shut up for two hours. I want you to sit there and think about what you did to that kid the other day. I want you to sit there and accept that I am your teacher and you are my student and in this classroom I am the boss.”

Stegman snorted but he backed off. He went to the chair Andy pointed at and scraped it across the floor before turning it backwards and straddling it. Then he opened his arms wide as if to say ‘there you go.’

Andy sat back down. 

“That music you played. Did you write it?”

Stegman stared.

“Did you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Where did you learn to write music like that? Where did you learn to play?” He willed the boy to tell him. That music had reprised in his head every night since he’d heard it, more unforgettable than anything else he’d experienced at Lincoln High, including a student’s death. 

Stegman looked towards the door. His friends weren’t there. “My dad taught me.” He mumbled the words, eager for them to remain unheard. But Andy wasn’t hard of hearing. 

“Your father? Is he a musician?”

“He ain’t nothing. He’s dead, alright?” Stegman’s chin jutted defiantly. His knuckles turned white where he was clutching at the edges of the chair. The wood creaked, on the verge of splintering. 

“I’m sorry.” Andy said sincerely. He’d lost his father at a young age, too, so he understood how it was. “But he gave you a gift. He really did. It’s a shame you squander it.”

Stegman sneered. “Squander? That’s a big word, teach. Betcha think I don’t know what it means, huh?”

“I think you do. I think you’re much smarter than the way you behave suggests.” He wanted Stegman to drop the act and reveal himself. He wanted him bare to his gaze, stripped of bravado and insolence. He wanted to see him the way he’d been when he played the piano. 

He got up and went to the instrument. It was old and there was a dud key here and there, but they’d nothing better. Opening the lid, Andy began to play. He was well aware that his own piano skills were serviceable at best. He was much more impressive with a violin, a flute or the conductor’s baton. 

“Do you know what I’m playing?”

“Beethoven.” Stegman replied churlishly. 

Andy kept his smile to himself. The boy was right. He played on, trying not to look up as he felt Stegman watching his every move with unwavering concentration. It made the hair on his arms stand on end and his palms sweat, his fingers slipping on the keys as he continued. 

When the feeling of being studied left him, he finally glanced up. The boy was gone, the door swinging closed behind him. 

************

Andy didn’t expect him to come the next day. In fact he was in the middle of packing up his briefcase when the door slammed open and Stegman stormed into the classroom. This time it was his jeans that were torn. His shirt, such as it was, was something silky and hot purple. He dressed expensively, clothes that were designed to look loud and stand out. He - or his family - obviously had money, at least compared to the kids he hung around with. They wore dirty rags in comparison. 

“You’re staring, teacher, teacher.” Stegman posed, his hip jutted cockily. 

“My name is Mr Norris. I think you know that by now.”

Stegman wandered past his chair, caressing it with one slender finger, and then to the piano. He lifted the lid and hit a couple of keys. 

“Needs a good tuning,” Andy remarked pleasantly. 

Stegman made a noise of agreement. 

“Do you know how?”

Green eyes flashed. “Do you?”

Andy nodded and took his tuning lever from the desk drawer. Approaching cautiously, lest he frighten the boy away, he silently asked for help in removing the piano’s external panel so that he could get to the strings. When he fumbled, purposely, Stegman grabbed the lever from him and did it himself, his brow furrowed as he worked. 

“Try it now,” he said in a voice that was almost gentle. 

Andy did and it was perfect. 

“Do you want to play?” He asked as they replaced the panel. 

Stegman was so close. He smelled of tobacco, hairspray and drugstore cologne. There was glitter or something in his hair, probably left there by Patsy whose face was normally covered in it. 

He did it without saying anything. That same beautiful music filled the silence and Andy inhaled, just as he had before, and felt his heart leap. Stegman closed his eyes, increasingly lost to it, and his youth became apparent. An extraordinary young man. A monster. 

“Why do you do it? Why the drugs, the girls, the fights? Why do it when you can do this instead?”

Stegman opened his eyes. They connected like magnets, drawn to each other. Andy felt a rush like none he’d ever known. Imagine if he were able to help this boy. Imagine if Stegman became someone worth a damn…imagine…and it was all because of him. That would be a victory greater than any army ever dreamt of. 

“I do it cos I wanna do it,” Stegman replied, his fingers stilling. “I don’t need a reason.”

“Then I’m sad, sad that a young man like you…”

The stool skittered back, shoved by Stegman. He rounded on Andy, mouth twisted and eyes crazy enough to sound the alarm. Andy’s arms flew up in a protective cross, a barrier between them. 

Stegman sniggered. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Go fuck yourself, teach. Better yet, go fuck your wife. She’s pretty for an older chick. I’d do her.”

Andy pushed him away. “Shut your mouth.”

“Why don’t you shut it? Go on. Go on. GO ON!” He head butted him, cracking their skulls together. 

Andy yelled in pain, touching the blood that bloomed on his forehead as Stegman laughed meanly. 

“YO STEG!” Fallon’s voice rang out in the hall. “We gotta go, man!”

In an instant Andy was alone.

*********

“What’re you doing, Andy?” Diane asked over dinner, her kind face concerned. Her cutlery lay on the table, her meatloaf and potatoes untouched as she studied her bruised and pale husband. “This school, this place, it’s no good for us.”

She thought he was being unreasonably stubborn. He couldn’t blame her. 

The radio played soft jazz over the crackling waves. The kettle whistled on the stove. He drank from his cup of orange juice and chewed a mouthful of food. 

“I’m making a difference to those kids. I’m sure of it.”

“But you’re so tired. You’re losing weight. You barely sleep. I’m worried, sweetheart.” She placed her hand over his and squeezed. Guilt squirmed in his stomach. She didn’t need any stress, not in her condition.

“Give me some more time,” he begged. “I’m making headway. I can’t just leave.”

She sighed.

“You can. Go to your mother’s. You’ll feel better there.”

“Feel better? Without you?” Her smile was sweet and he wanted to kiss her. “You’re an idiot, Andrew Norris.” She ruffled his hair as she got up to pour them both a cup of tea. “But you’re an idiot I’m sticking by.” She grinned, her face given a healthy glow in the steam from the kettle. 

Andy smiled back. “I’m grateful for that.”

She handed him his cup and cleared away their plates. “Good.”

************

On the third day Stegman didn’t show. 

Andy waited for over an hour and then gathered his things, tucking a roll of sheet music under his arm, and made his way out to the parking lot. Terry was there, waiting by his own car with his arms folded. 

“What’s the matter?” Andy asked as he unlocked his door and shoved everything onto the backseat. 

“Flat tire,” Terry moaned. “I called the AAA forty minutes ago. They’re sure taking their time. Plus, I’m all out.” He raised his canteen and shook it. No comforting slosh of whisky remained. 

“Get in,” Andy said. “I’ll give you a lift.” It looked like rain. 

Terry’s large brown eyes softened gratefully and he climbed into the passenger seat. Andy switched on the radio. _Take a look at my face, I am the future_. He switched it off. 

They drove in companionable silence. Andy’s eyes drifted from storefront to storefront, taking in the hotspots of the city still unfamiliar to him. When he spotted Stegman’s parked car, and Fallon lingering nearby, he braked hard. 

“What is it?” Terry asked. “Andy!”

“I just want to see…” Andy hurried out the car and followed Fallon as he raced down the alleyway he’d been guarding. Terry pounded the pavement after him, calling his name. 

He knew it was a bad idea, but he was incensed enough by Stegman’s truancy that he didn’t care. He had to find out what was going on. 

Arthur and Deneen were backed into a corner, surrounded by the usual suspects. Patsy had a broken glass bottle and was shoving it into the younger girl’s neck. They were trafficking in intimidation, trying to bully the good kids into keeping their mouths shut. As if they needed to bother; there was no chance they were going to talk, Andy had already tried. 

Stegman’s posture went from lax to alert as he approached. “School’s out, teach.”

Andy stuck his finger in the boy’s face. “Not for you.” He checked his watch. “There’s still half an hour of today’s detention left. You can make up what you missed next week.”

“You gonna let him talk to you like that, Steg?” Fallon asked curiously. 

Engaged in a stare off, Stegman didn’t reply. Something glittered in his gaze, something dangerous and unstable. Andy should have retreated and bowed his head, like a beta to the alpha wolf, but he was stupidly unafraid. 

“You two get out of here,” he said to Arthur and Deneen. “Go on home.”

Stegman broke their link, nodded to his gang, and a scuffle began. They all went for Andy, blows aimed to incapacitate, and Terry did his best to call them off. He earned a vicious wound for his troubles, when a knife pierced the skin of his hand. Arthur and Deneen ran and, eventually, Stegman and his gang did as well. 

But Andy wasn’t satisfied. He chased the blonde boy down and grabbed him by his collar, yanking him over to his car. “Get in.” He ordered. “You’ve got half an hour to go. Get the fuck in.”

To his surprise, Stegman obeyed. He was thrumming with resentment, his shoulders almost shaking as he attempted nonchalance in the passenger seat. Andy got in the driver’s side and Terry crawled into the back, applying a makeshift bandage across his palm. 

Not looking away from Stegman’s stubborn profile, Andy pressed the button to lock all the doors. 

“You know those kids are too scared to say anything,” he said after a minute or two. “You went after them just for kicks.”

Stegman’s upper lip curled, a flush high on his cheekbones. “Fuck you.”

“Watch your mouth, young man.”

Terry gaped in amazement, his wound momentarily forgotten. Nobody had ever even attempted to stand up to Stegman before. And for Andy to still be sitting there, relatively unscathed, it was a goddamn miracle. In fact, he was tempted to check his own alcohol levels because there was a good chance he was drunk and hallucinating. 

“You’re getting off on this. Thinking you’re some authority over me.” Stegman drummed his fingers on the dashboard.

“I’m your teacher. You’re my student.” Andy reached over and stilled the movement. 

“Yeah. You wanna teach me real good, don’cha? Gets your dick all hard just thinking about it.”

“Mr Stegman, please!” Terry interjected wearily.

Stegman smirked. “You should talk some sense into him, Mr Corrigan. I run this school. I own your ass,” he glared from one man to the other, “and yours.”

Andy sighed. “You might think that’s the case, but I can assure you it’s not. You’re just a child…”

“And you can’t decide whether you want to fuck me or fuck me up? What does that make you, huh, teach?” Stegman’s eyes snapped to the clock on the dash and he reached to slam his fist on the black button beside Andy. The locks clicked open simultaneously. “Time’s up.” He all but threw himself out of the car and then strode down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner. 

Andy hit the steering wheel. 

“I can’t help but feel this is a very bad idea you’ve had, Andrew.” Terry remarked sadly.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into it today.” He was glad he’d stopped, if just for the fact that Arthur and Deneen had been spared a world of hurt, but otherwise he wished he hadn’t. Stegman’s words echoed in his ears and he knew he’d be hearing them in his sleep. _Fuck him or fuck him up_. Maybe his obsession felt like that to the young man, maybe he couldn’t contemplate good, honest desire to offer a hand and a future.

Because Stegman was the future, he was right about that. All the kids were. But they had to make choices about what kind of future they wanted, and Andy was there to help them make the right ones. That was it. That was all. Wasn’t it?

“Let’s get you to the hospital.” Terry’s wound was still bleeding profusely and Andy had a lump growing on his forehead that he was sure would be a nasty shade of blue by the morning. 

**********

The next day was a tragedy. Both Andy and Terry, upon entering the school, were hustled to the science labs by security. Morganthau was waiting for them with grim resignation. 

Terry pushed through the crowd of students, determined to see what had them so entranced and disgusted. His mouth dropped and his eyes welled as he took in the bloody destruction wrought as an act of vengeance. Dead animals were strung up, skinned, and smeared across the walls. His animals. His beloved animals who never hurt anyone, who were soft and lovely and loving. 

He heaved.

Andy ran to him. 

“No!” Terry held his hand up and gathered himself. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of everyone. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. “I’m fine.” It was a lie, but he would wallow in the complete and utter despair he felt engulfing his body - heavy and thick like molasses - at home. 

***********

After that show of aggression, Andy hardly expected Stegman to play ball and show up for his fourth day of detention but the boy surprised him. Again.

He was already there, seated and waiting, when Andy arrived after taking Terry home and making sure he was all right. 

Nothing could’ve stopped him from storming over and grabbing the kid by the throat. He lifted him bodily out of the chair and shoved him against the wall so hard his head smacked off the plaster. 

Stegman grunted and smiled. 

Andy raised his fist, his blood pounding to the beat of pure rage. His face was red, his veins were popping, and he was capable of reducing the asshole to a crimson stain. Or was he? He faltered, unable to match violence with violence. 

Stegman’s laugh was one of pure mockery. “Teacher, teacher just got too much to lose,” he taunted, “otherwise you’d have done me right. Like THIS!” Without warning, he slammed his forehead into the door. Blood dribbled down his face. 

Andy winced. “What’re you doing?”

Stegman did it again. He forced his own face into the wall, scraping at the skin and bashing his nose. 

“STOP IT!” Andy pinned his arms, preventing him from doing any further damage. “You’re crazy!”

Stegman’s smile was stained red. “You got me real good, teach…go on, call for help.”

“You think you’re gonna get me out of your life by setting me up? Is that it? I’m not going anywhere, Stegman, believe it. Now sit down and we’ll get back to why we’re here.”

“You came in and jumped me.” The blonde said, clenching his jaw. He was a mess, beaten to a pulp by his own hand. 

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Is that an apology?” Stegman sat, legs spread wide. 

“No. But I’m older. I'm supposed to know better. I can’t call myself an educator if I’m no better than those I’m trying to educate.” Andy went to his desk and pulled out a wad of green paper towels. He had a half empty bottle of water and he used it to clean the blood from the boy’s face. Stegman remained stock still, a mutinous statue, but he allowed it. 

“Why did you do that to Mr Corrigan’s animals?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t do it.”

“But you told your friends to do it, didn’t you?”

The nod was so slight that any observer might have missed it. But Andy, who was hyper-focused on his wayward student, saw it in slow motion. 

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” Stegman rolled his eyes. “I ain’t got time to play patient to your shrink, teach. There’s nothin inside me - no daddy issues, no bad childhood - that’s gonna make you understand why I do what I do…”

“Do you understand? Why you do what you do?”

“I don’t need to. I just do it.”

“And one day you’ll end up in jail! Or dead! And no one will care! They’ll cheer. Is that what you want? To be a bad memory for the world to forget? You have talent, Peter, you have real talent, and you’re capable of so much you don’t even know….”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Peter? That’s your name. Why shouldn’t I use it?”

Stegman threw himself forward and back in his seat, dislodging Andy’s hand where it dabbed at the cut on his forehead. He tipped his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Andy gazed down at him, bent over him, too close, maybe. It looked like he was in pain. He pressed the towel to Stegman’s head again, hoping the water might soothe him. 

Stegman wrapped his hand around Andy’s wrist. It didn’t hurt but he wasn’t able to break free. “You’re mixing me up, Mr Norris. I don’t like it. I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

Andy ignored the little flip his heart did at hearing his name, not just that mocking teach, on Stegman’s tongue. The boy spoke so quietly that he had to lean closer to hear him. His eyes were two green pools swirling with confusion and pain and they sucked him in.

“Goldstein liked to diddle his students too,” Stegman whispered. Andy felt his breath on his lips. “That’s why he fell down the stairs. You should ask Arthur about it sometime.”

Andy jerked back. “That’s. That’s not what this is. Not for me.”

“Sure. You just wanna watch me play by myself.” Stegman waited a moment, perhaps to see if Andy had anything else to say, and then stood up. He threw a grin over his shoulder as he left. 

Andy sat down where he’d been and contemplated the bloody towel he held. 

*********

Arthur was small, plump, and shy, but he grew in confidence every day under Andy’s tutelage. 

“Stegman told you that?” He asked, voice quavering. 

Andy nodded. “Is there any truth to it?” Goldstein - his predecessor - was a man who’d left minimal impact on the students’ musical learning. So what had he done for all the years he’d taught there?

Arthur shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting everywhere before landing back on Andy’s face. “He, uh, he liked to keep kids after class, Mr Norris.”

“He kept you?”

“Yeah, once. But Stegman interrupted us. He kind of…he kinda saved my ass. So that’s why I…that’s why…”

“That’s why you won’t rat him out?” Andy frowned. He could understand that. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. I’ll see you in class later.” He clapped him gently on the back. As Arthur scampered off into the throng, Andy caught Stegman watching them both from afar, framed in the window of a door. Patsy hung all over him, pouring words into his ear, unaware that his attention was not on her. 

Andy nodded at him. He didn’t expect Stegman to nod back.

********

There was a riot in the cafeteria. Students beating each other up, throwing food and punches like they were interchangeable. Arthur was caught in the midst of it, trapped and punctured like a balloon. He deflated on the floor, bleeding out while chaos reigned around him. He went to hospital. Critical. But he would live. 

Stegman didn’t show up for detention that day.

*********

The next day, the day that Terry lost all sanity and threatened his students with a gun, Stegman did show up. Pale, obviously affected by what had gone down in the science classroom, he entered almost cautiously. 

“Corrigan…” he began.

“Mr Corrigan.” Andy corrected, peering at him over the work he was grading. 

“He flipped out, man. He put a fucking revolver in my face!” Stegman stood, bewildered. 

“Why do you think he did that, huh? What event might have driven such a quiet, gentle man to those extremes?” Andy put the essay - an assignment on famous composers - down and waited. 

“The rabbits.” 

“Right.”

Stegman ran his hand through his hair and bent himself in half to laugh hollowly. When he straightened up there was a glint of moisture on his cheek. 

Andy didn’t comment on it. “The things you do have consequences, Peter. He might have killed you. You might be dead right now and we - you and I - wouldn’t be having this conversation. And why? Because you had to take out your misguided revenge on him when it was me you really wanted to hurt. That’s why you had Arthur shanked too, isn’t it? Because, what, because you think I favour him over you?”

Stegman scoffed. “I don’t give a fuck who you favour.”

“You do. That’s okay.” It was flattering in a terribly disturbing way. It meant he was getting through to him. It meant that some part of the boy, however reluctant it was, admired his tenacity. “You need to calm down. We both do. Come and sit at the piano.”

The stool was big enough for two. There were inches between their legs - his, clad in brown slacks, and Stegman’s, squeezed into skintight leather. Andy lifted the lid to expose the keys. He set the music up earlier. It was a duet, not too complicated but there was room to embellish. 

He began. After a moment, Stegman accompanied him. 

There was no doubt who the superior player was. Stegman’s fingers flew across the keys like angel’s wings, producing the sweetest most incongruous melody to his person. Andy smiled.

“How is he?” Stegman asked.

“Mr Corrigan?”

A nod.

“Mrs Corrigan gave him some valium. Morganthau gave him a month’s leave. I’m going to visit him at the weekend.”

Stegman kept playing, running the first piece into another, harder, composition. Andy tried his best but he couldn’t keep up. His arms fell to his sides and he simply listened in awe. 

“All he ever wanted was to be an inspiration to someone,” he said when the music ended. “To all of you, one of you, or any of you. He didn’t deserve to see those animals he cared about butchered like that.”

Stegman swallowed.

“Come see him with me. Tell him you’re sorry. He’d like that.”

“Do you want me to suck his cock, too?” The words were vile but they lacked bite. 

“Will you come?”

Stegman, of course, didn’t reply. Silence was his refuge when he was afraid to speak. 

“You know my address. Be there on Saturday morning if you want to come.” Andy didn’t want to regret the offer. He hoped he wouldn’t. 

********

The day dawned sunny and warm. Andy showered and dressed in a turtleneck and jeans. He combed his hair and trimmed his beard. 

“It’s like you’re getting ready for a date,” Diane teased, packing some treats she’d baked for him to take. 

Andy cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll be back later, for dinner.”

“We’re going out. You promised.” Her beautiful mouth kissed his, her smile sweet enough to eat. 

“I know.”

The window was open and he looked out of it for the fiftieth time that morning. Their neighbour to the left was watering his plants with a hose and to the right some tiny children tossed a ball back and forth. Then - there - Stegman appeared. He hopped off a bus that pulled up across the road and paused to stare up at the Norris’ home. 

Andy leant out the window and waved. “I’ll be right out!” He picked up the cakes and kissed Diane’s cheek. “See you later, honey.”

“Be careful,” she warned.

Stegman greeted him awkwardly when he arrived outside. He was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans that didn’t cling inappropriately. Anyone else would’ve just looked normal, but he looked like a choir boy. 

“Get in,” Andy said, opening the passenger door. 

He chose a station to listen to and then began to drive. Stegman tapped his hand on his knee to the beat. It was nice. 

When Terry’s house came into view Stegman tensed. Andy switched off the radio. “I told him I was bringing you. Don’t be nervous.”

“Who’s nervous?”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just stay, drink some tea, and…”

“I’ll say what I want!” Stegman snapped. 

What he wanted to say, it turned out, was something very close to an apology. 

Terry was propped up in bed, his body wrapped in a deep navy dressing gown which kept him comfortable but made him appear very small. His brown eyes were bloodshot, but there was still a kindness to them. Whatever inner torment he felt, he hadn’t lost that. 

“I must say I’m surprised to see you, Mr Stegman.” He said in a wobbly, tired voice. “After what I did you can’t be too happy being in the same room as me.”

“What you did?” Stegman started forward, confused. “What?”

“I wanted to kill you. I’m sorry for that.” Terry was gravely sincere. 

“Yeah, well…those rabbits shouldn’t have died.” Stegman offered.

“No they shouldn’t.”

And that was it. They drank tea, they ate cakes, and they left. 

Andy drove Stegman back to his building. “I live on the top floor.” The boy told him. “My mum works nights. She hasn’t got a clue.”

“My dad died when I was nine,” Andy offered. “My mum was a waitress. I only saw her a few hours a week.”

“She thinks I’m something special,” Stegman continued like he hadn’t spoken. “Thinks I’m a genius cos I can balance her books and read Shakespeare. She doesn’t know what I do after school. During school. She brags about me to her friends at the salon, y’know. I fucked most of ‘em. She doesn’t know.”

“She loves you.”

“Maybe. She doesn’t know me.” Stegman was an open, desperate book. Andy read every line and felt his compassion grow. “Whatever you’re doing, teach, whatever this thing is with me…it’s not gonna work. I want you to…”

“Give up?” Andy asked. “On you? Never.”

Stegman chewed at his lip hard enough to draw blood. His brows knitted as he stared, pleading, and Andy forgot to breathe as the boy drew close and kissed him.

“No, Peter,” he said when they parted. “That’s not why.”

“Then what?”

“I told you. You’re talented. You’re more than what you make yourself out to be. You showed me that day when you played the piano to impress me. I was impressed. And now, after what you’ve done today, I’m even more so.” Andy sensed the agitation in the boy. The tautness of his body gave it away. “I’m not asking for miracles. Just…show up to class. Do your homework. Don’t deal. Don’t fight. Not on school grounds.”

“Be your star pupil? Come on, Mr Norris.”

“Play in my band. We’re having a recital. I’d love you to play that piece you wrote. There will be scouts there. Don’t you want to go to college?” Was it too much? He feared it might be, but Stegman didn’t scoff or slip into mulish silence. 

“I got the gig?” He repeated the question he’d asked before. 

“You got the gig.” Andy replied.

“But you got conditions.”

“I listed them for you.” This was it. The moment. His hand would be shook or slapped. 

“Yeah, ok.” Stegman chewed at his nails, bit one off and spat it free, and thought it over. “I gotta protect my rep,” he said. “I ain’t about to abandon my boys.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.”

“They ain’t gonna like it.” 

Andy shrugged patiently. “Wait and see. Maybe they’re tired of being bad all the time, too.”

“You sure you don’t wanna fuck me, teach?” The look was sly but the question was painfully honest. 

Andy ducked his head, aware of the sweat beading at his temples. He pictured Carol waiting for him in her red dress with its prim white collar, her stomach softly swollen, and nodded. “I love my wife.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Andy grinned, elated. 

“Okay, I’ll play at your asshole recital.” Stegman was grinning too. 

He watched the boy until he entered his building, receiving a small wave for his trouble. That night he and Diane ate at a Chinese buffet and he joked freely with her, forehead unlined for the first time in weeks. 

*********

Stegman played at the recital. First with the band and then on his own. The whole school watched in hushed wonder. Andy smiled in the shadows. The spotlight made Stegman’s hair shine bright gold, as brilliant as the music he created. 

Terry caught his eye from his spot in the audience and quietly applauded Andy’s triumph. Patsy, clad in something that was more pretty dress than punk rags, leant forward in her seat to gaze at the boy she blindly followed. 

Wherever he chose to lead her was where she would go. And the others were the same. They only awaited Peter Stegman’s command.

*********FIN*********


End file.
